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Here I will look at the history and origin of physical art galleries and their wider implications beyond their apparently
primary function of displaying art.
There are broadly two types of art galleries that I will look at: the more 'traditional', universal survey gallery, which
includes such venues as the Louvre, the National Gallery and Liverpool's Walker Art Gallery; and the modern art museum, illustrated
by galleries such as the Museum of Modern Art in New York or Tate Modern, in London.
The universal survey museums often had their origins in princely or private collections, held in royal palaces or manor houses
and displayed only to a small section of society. Beyond the actual works of art, these collections displayed the wealth,
learning and culture of a royal dynasty or an individual, and often functioned as ceremonial sites, through which they could
reinforce their authority and standing in society or on the world stage, 'to impress foreign visitors and local dignitaries
with the rulers magnificence'. Once these galleries became 'public' collections, these social, political and ritualistic functions
were not abandoned, but put to use instead for the benefit and glory of the state. Beyond the 'aesthetic contemplation' which
would be the overt activity in such places, the visitor would also be taking part in what Carol Duncan describes as a 'ritual'
that blurs the boundaries between the Enlightenment splitting of secular and religious practices, where galleries take on
some of the functions of temples and churches, as well as being made aware of the splendour and beneficence of the state.
These affirmations of state and authority were manifested through the use of a special style of architecture, and the creation
of 'spacious and stately buildings', to provide the physical setting of a stature equal to the task in hand
The typical appearance of these buildings was that of the neo-classical structure, which closely resembled the monumental
religious and civic structures of ancient Greece and Rome. Through the use of such buildings, the state hoped to align itself
with those notions of strength, power, authority and the birth and nurturing of civilisation with which those eras are associated.
These buildings themselves were often set in or near parks or gardens, to further heighten their palatial or religious appearance.
Once inside, the visitor is greeted by large marble halls and corridors, monumental spaces which were 'scaled for processions…implying
large communal gatherings, and interior sanctuaries designed for awesome and potent effigies' again recalling royal or religious
functions. This architectural script continues throughout the building, presenting the visitor with a pre-ordained path to
follow, like a pilgrim walking a church labyrinth , taking them along sumptuous galleries that are often decorated with symbols
of the state. Through such means, it is made apparent that the visitor has entered into a space that 'is perhaps not entirely
desanctified' and where their place in the grand social scheme is implied.
For Bourdieu, such practices within a gallery serve to heighten the conception that 'the world of art opposes itself to the
world of everyday life' and entrance to this world requires a transformation from the profane to the sacred. The architecture
and trappings of such places implies this transformation must be made, by those 'chosen by their ability to respond' to the
call of the sacred work of art, which will in turn 'bestow its sanction on those who satisfy these requirements.' Through
such a process, which the ability to undertake for some is an attribute of natural talent or inclination, but which Bourdieu
locates in the unequal nature of education, those who do successfully gain entry to such places (by this I mean more than
physically entering a gallery, but also fully engaging in the ritualistic and institutional subtexts) are granted the means
of 'appropriation of cultural goods', thus securing for themselves some of the authority and social power that such places
represent.
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The modern art museum too makes use of its architecture to make a statement about the type of experience that is meant to
be undertaken within it, although this differs from that of the universal survey gallery.
In the modern gallery, the emphasis is shifted away somewhat from the beneficent state and the education and cultural training
of the people towards a more absorbed contemplation of the art itself, although the notion of acquiring cultural capital within
such places can still be applied. In these galleries, the sumptuous trappings of prince and state are replaced by the modernist
white cube, and the Victorian hang of multiple works in close proximity to one another gives way to the isolated work surrounded
only by an expanse of neutral-coloured wall.
An early (1939) example of this type of gallery is the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) in New York. Designed along modernist principles
and described on its opening as 'a machine to show pictures in', the building resembles a department store with its clean
and uncluttered design, and successfully 'fulfilled the demands for a material manifestation of MOMA's principles and ideology',
to be judged 'by the outsider as part and parcel of the whole contemporary art movement, and by the insider according to the
high criterion set by its own contents.' Again with this description we see the principles of those already accepted within
a cultural stratum and those who have yet to successfully gain entrance.
Instead of the building resembling a palace or temple of antiquity, MOMA's galleries were 'domesticated and approximated the
private collectors' homes so closely associated with the institution', the 'ghosts of former private apartments in which these
paintings were hung'. The mantle of public spirited patronage and of trespassing into a space not normally accessible to the
average person still existed, but was passed from the state to the wealthy individual(s). Also still present was the scripted
passage through art history, although its schools were restricted to the history of modern art. Besides purpose built galleries,
some modern art institutions choose to move into disused industrial sites, as the Tate has done both in Liverpool and at Tate
Modern, Bankside. This could be interpreted as a literal metamorphoses from the profane to the sacred, the gentrification
of a redundant everyday place by the arrival of a high culture institution.
What both of these different types of gallery aim to achieve, despite their different approaches, is a sense of liminality
in the viewer. This is a state of consciousness beyond the normal everyday experience, detached from oneself and the outside
world, enabling the viewer to 'move beyond the psychic constraints of mundane existence, step out of time and attain new,
larger perspectives'. This is perhaps the most obvious function of a gallery, where works are displayed beyond any other context
than that of art itself (especially in the case of religious works, which may once have had a wider function as a focus of
worship in a church or chapel). However, as I hope I have shown, the display of art in galleries carries as much social and
political significance as it does aesthetic.
This description of the subtexts present in the gallery system has been necessary to illustrate some of its functions that
serve a wider purpose, and that may be advantageous for these galleries to maintain when they attempt to forge for themselves
a presence in cyberspace. If museum and gallery visiting 'comes with the highest approval of cultural authorities', in what
ways do these authorities continue to bestow this approval through digital means?
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Rituals in Cyberspace
Although these web sites cannot present the same imposing architectural façade on the Internet as they do in real life, they
can however present images of their external architecture in photographic form. This is often placed on the welcome or home
page of the site, the digital equivalent to standing outside a building . By presenting the virtual visitor with a view of
the actual building, they are communicating much the same information as they would to an actual one. The knowledge that this
particular web site is representing a institution that is housed in a palace or faux Greco-Roman temple will give the cyber-visitor
the same sensation of entering an august and venerable institution, one that carries with it the authority of a long history
of custodianship of the arts, and the anticipation of seeing a large and well appointed collection of art, probably containing
a broad survey of artistic evolution from at least the Renaissance, and several acknowledged 'masterpieces' by key artists.
Although this seems a lot to infer from one picture, it is not too much to assume that this is what is implied, as the architectural
iconography of such places is common social currency, has been in place for well over a hundred years and can be found in
nearly every western country in the world.
Once 'inside' such a site, one is more than likely presented with not only a map of the web site, in the form of a menu box
or bar allowing one to choose from such options as 'History of the Gallery', 'Sculpture' or 'Sixteenth Century Painting' etc,
but also a plan of the actual gallery, much as one would be if you visited the physical site (Illustration 4.5). Such an item
would at first glance seem redundant on a digital art gallery, as one should not be restricted in one's movements by such
obviously analogue features as walls and stairs, and it should be possible to select works from the web site regardless of
their hang in the actual gallery. This is in fact often the case, despite the presence of corresponding floor plans. So why
are they included? One reason could be as an aid for the visitor who is already familiar with the physical collection, who
knows the room location of the piece to be viewed, allowing him or her to simply point and click at the desired location and
save valuable time for actually looking at the work. However, another result of the floor plans is to maintain in the visitor
the sense of scale of the gallery, further inspiring the sense of grandeur already aroused by the image of the gallery's exterior,
and to maintain the pre-set route through the works to affirm the received narrative of art history. If a gallery is in possession
of a grand and imposing architecture, and a reputation for presenting a definitive and highly imitated display of art from
classical times onward, as the Louvre has (described as the 'prototype for scores of national galleries and municipal art
collections', it would be reasonable to assume that they would wish to hold on to this reputation, and refuse to relinquish
the authority they possess when presenting themselves in virtual form.
When museums themselves find themselves as exhibits within the postmodern musée imaginaire, reduced to a more or less standard
format and monitor size, one way of still maintaining their position with regard to all the other possible virtual art galleries
is make their physical size and design a feature of their digital construct. If the real Louvre presents many possible choices
of route (however scripted these all may be) because of its size, then the virtual Louvre can too. These routes are often
present on the gallery's site in almost identical form, with the next page (or room) to be viewed indicated by an arrow on
the screen, prompting the viewer in which path to take.
Besides presenting the visitor with a plan of the physical gallery, many such sites also allow them to see not just the works
that are housed in each room, but also the rooms themselves. This can be done in a number of ways. The Louvre and the National
Gallery in Washington DC, for example, allow the virtual visitor to download virtual reality tours of the galleries. Once
running these present a panoramic view of the room in question, which the visitor can rotate by use of the mouse in order
to see the entire room and its contents, so they can view not only which works are hung together, but also the splendid and
spacious galleries that house them. This, again, is another way of the host gallery to reaffirm its physical attributes and
display its true nature beyond the democratising confines of the web. The galleries are also helpfully shown without people,
so one is able to get an uninterrupted view of the galleries and a full sense of the palatial scale of the rooms, and go away
with real sense of the grandeur or sophistication of the site without ever having been there.
Another method is to digitally recreate the galleries in which work is hung, and allow the visitor to navigate them in a similar
way. This is the case for the Van Gogh Exhibition, which was originally held at the National Gallery in Washington DC, but
is now to be found, relocated in its entirety, to a web site called ArtMuseum.net, which is presented by the computer and
microchip manufactures Intel. After a lengthy download, the visitor can either select a room from the 3D map of the gallery
rooms, or enter through the main entrance and travel through the show as its physical visitors did. All the works are shown
in their original places, and the gallery is reproduced in detail, down to the grain in the floorboards. Instead of just photographs
or floor plans, what one is presented with here is a complete digital simulation of the exhibitions original settings. There
now exists a new object, representing a space which no longer exists in reality, but which is forever preserved artificially
beyond its original place in time. Where this differs from other virtual reality tours of other pre-existing galleries is
that the paintings can be selected by use of the mouse and one is presented with a larger scale image to be studied in detail.
One work, the Yellow House at Arles can even be virtually entered by the visitor, allowing them to see around the corner of
the frame and up at the sky. This is featured in a television advert for Intel, but in the gallery version it is not rendered
as well as it is on the TV, and most of what one sees whilst scrolling round inside the painting is just a black and white
mirror image of what is represented by the artist. Again, this in effect is the creation of a new object, one which goes beyond
Van Gogh's original work and intention, and which fulfils a completely different function. It now becomes a demonstration
of Intel's technological virtuosity and cultural knowledge and involvement, instead of the Post-Impressionist work of the
original.
The practice of large corporations presenting there art collection on the Internet is not unusual, (companies such as Microsoft
and Chipworks also display their acquisitions on their web sites), and this could be seen as a further transference of cultural
patronage, which originally sprang from the monarchy, then from the state, then from beneficent individuals (as with the Walker
Art Gallery, built by Andrew Barclay Walker, or those patrons referred to in the descriptions of MOMA), and now from multi-nationals,
who as Carol Duncan says 'seem to use displays of cultural capital in ways that parallel the princes of old.'
Although these examples are all representations of what may best described as traditional galleries, modern art galleries
have also presented themselves in cyberspace in this manner. Tate Modern, for example, provides a panoramic view of its main
entrance hall and the Uruguay Museum of Modern Art, which has a virtual version of its physical site on the web. Here one
can see the works displayed in their cool, spacious and thoroughly modernist galleries, again telling us more about the gallery
and what kind of experience can be expected than just what works can be seen.
As Internet usage grows, and with it the remote viewing of art, it is only through a transposition of a gallery's physical
stature and its cultural branding that it can hope to define and defend its position and function, and differentiate itself
from the increasing number of new 'galleries' who have not earned a position of social authority through centuries of exhibitionary
dominance. Although here I am describing these practices in ways that suggest that they are carried out deliberately by the
galleries, others see it as a more unintentional progression from the galleries physical structure. Carol Duncan, for example
says that although 'it is right to see this as maintaining a whole structure that carries cultural authority and social prestige…I'm
not sure…that this is a response to the democratizing potential of the Internet. I really wonder if it even occurs to museum
web site builders to feel threatened.'
However, it can be argued that even if these strategies are not being explicitly engaged with in the creation of such sites,
it does not mean that they are not being brought into play. One can wonder at how fully aware were the nineteenth century
architects of the neo-classical art galleries of the social and cultural implications of their designs, just as a web designer
may not be aware that he/she is propagating these same subtexts in cyberspace. Traditional museums and galleries have held
their positions of authority for long time, and much of that authority is manifested in their architecture. To transfer these
architectural properties verbatim onto the Internet cannot fail but to deliver the same message when viewed amongst other
art sites that either do not attempt any architectural setting, or create web-specific constructs to house their collections.
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